


The Nobley Letters

by CanterburyTales



Series: Adventures in Austenland [1]
Category: Austenland - All Media Types
Genre: Correspondence, Ethical Dilemmas in Elizabethan Crop Production, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 15,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanterburyTales/pseuds/CanterburyTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the collected epistles, emails, texts and other assorted missives received and sent by Henry Nobley Esq before and during his sojourn at Pembrook Park; together with additional scenes never before seen, for the edification of the reader.</p><p>Spoilers for the movie. (And probably won't make much sense if you haven't watched "Austenland".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is Goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [1796 Broadway](https://archiveofourown.org/works/972937) by [rainproof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainproof/pseuds/rainproof), [teaberryblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaberryblue/pseuds/teaberryblue). 



> I loved Austenland. I also love filling in backstory and much-needed gaps, so here we are.
> 
> I wrote this after watching the movie, but before reading the books. I changed some details after the books, but the Henry Nobley of the book is different to that of the movie in my opinion, so - this is the movie guy, complete with invented failed relationship and invented family :) 
> 
> I also parcelled the movie plus deleted scenes into days, then padded it out to two weeks. At the start of each "day" I will note what movie and deleted scenes are in the "day". Hope you enjoy.
> 
> I should acknowledge the inspiration of _1796 Broadway_ , which manages to tell an entire story using only texts, emails and computer surveillance :)

_(Email from Sophia Wildingham. April, three years before)_

 

Henry, 

I know the right thing to do is wait until you get back from Switzerland and tell you to your face. I’m sorry but I can’t wait that long. 

I love Mark and I’m going to Brazil with him. I shouldn’t have done it, I know. He was so cross with me and so on your side, I just had to see if I could break him down. I could, but the biter was also bit this time.

I know I haven’t treated you well but the truth is I’m not cut out for the life you want. The last year, the talk of marriage and children made me feel trapped. I know what I said but I never wanted that, not really. I want to be free, to do what I want. I don’t want to be tied down and you were pulling tighter every single day. I want to breathe.

We should have broken up years ago. You should never have forgiven me after Ed. If there is such a thing as being too loyal, you are too loyal. Some things are not for ever, and can never be made for ever. 

It’s time to stop pretending. This is goodbye. I’m leaving my job and my phone behind. Mark is doing the same. Don’t try to find us. You won’t hear from us again.

Have a good life,

Sophia.


	2. Colin Firth for a fortnight

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, thirty days before. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: Henry, please go. Mimi.  
H: Mimi, the last thing I want to do after marking 500 scripts is pretend to be Colin Firth for a fortnight, H.  
M: You might enjoy it, Mimi  
H: Mimi, No. H.  
M: You might meet a nice girl who shares your feeling for history. Mimi.  
H: I'm a history professor. I manage to meet quite a few women interested in history.  
H: Or do you mean specifically a specialist in agricultural unrest in the Modern period? Does AL attract many? H.  
M: Don't be sarcastic, it doesn't suit you. It will mean a lot to Lillian. AL is on the brink as it is. Mimi  
H: Good. H.  
H: I didn't mean that. But I have work to do. It's impossible. H.  
H: Bring your work with you. Lillian says you'll get several hours off each day. Mimi.  
H: No, mother. It will be equal parts tedious and embarrassing. H.  
M: But also quiet. No distractions. The perfect place to work.Mimi.


	3. Absolutely Not

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, twenty-nine days before. Scroll down for transcript)_

M: You wouldn't even exist if it weren't for her. Mimi.  
H: That was not a good excuse for chattel slavery and it is not a good excuse to make me do this. H.  
M: Lillian will allow you to read "in character" as long as the book is "Regency Appropriate". She seemed quite keen on the idea. Mimi.  
H: Oh god. She's with you now, isn't she?  
M: Please go Henry. It would mean a lot to both of us. Mimi  
H: Absolutely not. I am not going. H.


	4. Second circle of Hell

_(Texts from Edward Nobley, 25 days before. Scroll down for transcript.)_

E: Mimi says you bit the bullet. Why did you do that you prat? 

H: Couldn't say no. Mimi was practically weeping down the phone. And she's buying me dinner. H. 

E: Soft touch. Assume you’re getting confidentiality? 

H: I'm not a complete fool. No name, no photos, no pay, no records. Doing this will be bad enough. H. 

H: How did you wriggle out of it? H. 

E: Lillian thought I was unsuitable. 

H: Go on. H. 

E: I said I’d love to do it and that I had a beautiful leather bound Wollstonecraft's Vindication to read aloud to the ladies. For some reason Lillian dropped me like a hot potato. 

H: Pity. A proto-feminist revolt is just what AL needs. H.

E: Talking of proto-feminists, do you have anything on Thompson and the cooperative movement?

H: I'll email you something from the Second Circle of Hell. H.

E: You might enjoy it. Stranger things have happened.

H: No they haven't. H.


	5. Frighteningly Authentic

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, the day before)_

Dearest Mama,

The journey was uneventful and we have arrived at Pembrook Park. It is an elegant building built on a slight elevation. The principal rooms have a southerly aspect and are very fine, as are the bedrooms. The grounds are charming. 

Unfortunately, the charm ends there.

On arrival I was brought before the commandant, or "My Dear Aunt" as I am henceforth to address her. I have received my orders, to wit, I am to be polite yet reserved and quietly fade out when the "lead" arrives. I am to speak and act in a "Regency appropriate" manner at all times. I am to ensure I carry no "modern devices" into the main house, up to and including a ball point pen. I am to touch the ladies no more than is required for the “normal social graces”. Fraternisation is frowned on. The capital crime is "breaking the illusion". If I ever see you again, I shall expect a lavish dinner for doing this.

I have received my wardrobe, which is frighteningly authentic, and my room, which is inauthentic enough to have electricity and an Ethernet socket. At least it will be possible to work. No WiFi, even in the rest area or “Hellfire Club” as the butler calls it. The Hellfire Club is a secluded kitchen garden, with the vegetables ripped out and replaced with ~~fresh meat~~ male staff, set decoratively around the pool. The women, the butler tells me, tend to return at the last minute. Since they seem to do all the work, I don’t blame them. The men seem a decent crowd but I suspect I'll spend my free time in my room.

By the way, I have my phone and electronic devices on the strict condition there will be nothing audible outside the room. So no voice calls, sorry.

I still have no idea how you managed to talk me into this. 

Your loving son,

Henry.


	6. The Darcy Guy (Day 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAY ONE. 
> 
> From Jane's pov, arrival at the airport, getting the clothes, meeting everyone in the drawing room, dinner and the conversation with Charming ("don't hang yourself Jane"). 
> 
> From Henry's pov...

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, first day at Pembrook Park)_

Dearest Mama,

If you wanted to pimp me out, you might have informed me first. Perhaps we could have arranged it without the costume.

I have had an unsolicited faceful of cleavage. I have had to fight off a concerted attack on my genitalia. I am, quite frankly, unimpressed. What kind of place is My Dear Aunt running? Is it the immersive Austen experience she claims, or a male brothel? If the former, I really think she should make it clear to her clients, and if the latter, to the relatives she dupes to come in and “help out”.

That said, I think I was more shocked by the visitor who at dinner proceeded to tell the table about the romantic misfortunes of another visitor. I can just about understand Lillian requiring such information, but to reveal it to a guest like that was unprofessional. To allow the "lady" to use the information as she did without so much as a word of protest was unconscionable. The barrage continued until Miss E was driven from the table. 

Naturally I raised all this with My Dear Aunt. She claims that she said no more about Miss E than that she had never been married and that Miss H merely extrapolated from that information. I am forced to accept that but I'm far from happy with the situation. There is a point where role-playing becomes bullying. 

I have also been assured that the attacks on my virtue will stop, in case you're concerned. I believe that A, the "lead", will be handling Miss C. Rather him than me. To be entirely fair, though, I have to say that Miss C went after Miss E when Miss E left which is more than anyone else did. Her heart seems to be in the right place, even if her hands are generally not. 

I never told you about A. We met just before Miss H arrived. He's apparently Lillian's right hand man and worked with her "on the boards" before Lillian came up with AL. I'm not quite sure what to make of him. He rescued me from the cleavage, however, and lifelong friendships have been built on less. He has also promised to show me the ropes and informed me that I have been typecast. I had always thought that was a bad thing but A says that in my case it isn't.

The main thing, A tells me, is to attend to my miss(ion), without fear or favour and regardless of any personal feelings I may have. We all report to My Dear Aunt nightly and are all bound to secrecy as to what (or rather who) our mission is. So I can only say that it is a shame if I am to be “the Darcy guy” that Miss H’s personality is strikingly like Miss Bingley’s.

By the way, dearest mama, do you see now why I might be concerned about my reputation? I should never have agreed to this. Hearing my real name being bandied about makes me cringe. At least all the staff think I'm Henry Jenkins.

Weather continues fine. 

Your loving son

Henry.


	7. Ruth Deserved It

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, first day in Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: Henry, I hope you weren’t rude. Annabel still talks about how you behaved at her wedding. Mimi.

H: Mimi, in case you haven’t noticed I am no longer 15. In any case Ruth deserved it. H.


	8. Dread into Cornwallis’ Heart (Day 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second day for Jane: walking in the garden (with no escort), retreat to the stables where she meets Martin, outing on the horses, shooting, then walking back to be carried away on horseback to the house by Nobley. Evening in the stables.

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, second day at Pembrook Park)_

Dearest Mama,

You can have no idea of what a strange place this is. (Even when I tell you I am wearing fake sideburns.) While I am deeply grateful for the modern plumbing, I do wonder why the conversation in this never-never land has to be so authentic. Since most know very little about the period talk is reduced to prattle about the food and the weather. More than ever I feel that it is pointless talking to people unless you have something to actually say. But calm yourself, mama, I am not being rude. Lillian sends me so many meaningful looks I scarcely get the opportunity. 

People aside, there is something attractive about this game of pretend. There are occasions when it is easy to forget what century one is in. It is a privilege to be in a house like this, to explore it and the grounds as if one lived here. One can believe for a short while one is living in a more simple time, in an era of civility and order where reason and continuity are valued. One can even, briefly, touch the sublime. 

Before, naturally, coming back to earth with a bump. There is a definite class structure here, as rigid as any in Regency society. My dear Aunt, Miss H and Miss C are definitely at the top. A and I are a step down, as befits employees. We’re perhaps the equivalent of the second sons, hoping to find favour with the heiresses and avoid the slow slide down the social ladder. Miss E is in an odd position. Not quite of the party, yet not a servant, My Dear Aunt and even A are quite prepared to harangue her as they would never do with Miss H or Miss C. Even the staff don't respect her. From a historical point of view it is fascinating to watch. One can see why the bourgeoisie were so often the seedbed for revolution. 

Which leads me on to today's "activities". Miss E showed amazing proficiency at shooting, despite (I am told) never handling a hunting rifle before. It was the type of picturesque image fit to strike dread into Cornwallis’ heart: the Daughter of the American Revolution sending out volley after volley, each hitting its mark, the stable boy in a tricorn hat by her side ready to hand her another rifle. 

If I don't return and you come looking for me here, be sure to shout "Give me liberty or give me death” as you enter. One can never be too careful. 

Your loving son,

Henry. 

P.S. I recall A telling me all three of our ladies are American. But Miss H will always be Miss Bingley to my mind, and Miss C is a Force of Nature.


	9. Sublime

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, second day in Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: Henry, Should I ask what you were shooting in late June? Mimi. 

H: Pheasants. But it was perfectly legal, because they were already dead. H. 

M: I rather think I don't want to know any more. I AM curious about the sublime. Mimi

H: I was riding in a storm, that's all. H. 

M: I do hope you are being careful. Mimi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The (legally permitted) hunting season for pheasants in England runs from 1st October to 1st February.


	10. Grey Cloaks Abbey (Day 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Three, and it's an extra day, all pretty much invented. I've placed the [deleted scene where Jane is told the tailored ballgrowns are part of the elite package](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmHICpboYfI&index=3&list=PL7OOGbzOqzI5m3scatOnpHzWQNBUscSPP) in this day. It wasn't "Grey Cloaks Abbey" until after I read "Midnight in Austenland". The story about the Abbey in that book doesn't appear in this tho.

After breakfast, the men went hunting. In no mood for sampler stitching, Jane slipped away to the stables. The foal was there, being hovered over protectively by his mother, but Martin was not. Disappointed, Jane took a stroll around the grounds. The sunshine and fresh air lifted her spirits. No matter what, she loved being here. 

When she returned to the house, she could hear Mrs Wattlesbrook's voice, focused in gentle explanation. "..but this is the Regency period and we love to have what nature has bestowed us with." 

Curious, Jane followed the thread of sound and looked in the open door. What she saw filled her with delight. In the room before her Miss Charming stood in her undergarments. She was on a low platform, and pink feathers on her head made her look even taller. Mrs Wattlesbrook and her assistant fussed around her, while to the side, also in a state of undress, Miss Heartright examined a piece of fine lace. All Jane's imaginings of preparing for balls were made concrete in front of her eyes.

As she moved to enter the room, Mrs Wattlesbrook (who clearly had eyes in the back of her head) came to meet her. "The ladies are being fitted for their ball gowns. It's important we look our best that night."

"That sounds great." Jane was thrilled. This was exactly what she had dreamed of, as the opening chapter of a great romance granted, but still. But as she moved forward, Mrs Wattlesbrook stopped her. "You misunderstand. _Tailored_ gowns are part of the elite package." 

Jane hardly knew what to say. She could feel the smile collapsing on her face. She watched the others for a moment then walked away. 

She read alone until lunch. As they were finishing Mrs Wattlesbrook had an announcement. "Colonel Andrews has suggested an excursion." 

"Oh golly gosh, where to?" Miss Charming demanded, turning expectantly to Andrews. 

Colonel Andrews simpered back at her. "A ruined abbey! It is most picturesque." 

"Oh, how charming! I do adore the gothic." That, naturally, was Miss Heartright. Mr Nobley, characteristically, said nothing. 

Jane suppressed her smile at Miss Charming's reaction. Most of her enthusiasm clearly drained away. But she shrugged her shoulders and stood up. "Well, then, let's get moving!" As they left the room, Miss Charming took Jane's arm. "Has to be better than sewing, right?" 

The carriage this time was an open one, and Jane noticed with a sinking heart that there were only four seats inside and no luggage space on the back. Miss Charming obviously noticed too, because her arm tightened on Jane's. "That cart's too small," she announced to Andrews. Andrew shrugged magnificently and bowed to both of them. 

"There is room on the box, if Miss Erstwhile would not object." Over Andrews shoulder Martin came into view around the horses. He winked discretely. Jane suddenly didn't object at all. 

"That is hardly proper," Mr Nobley said. "Surely one of the gentlemen should take the box." Miss Heartright immediately over-rode him. 

"Oh, Mr Nobley, you will not abandon me, will you? I may have need of your arm on this arduous journey." Mr Nobley looked dubious and was clearly going to say more, but Mrs Wattlesbrook was suddenly there, looking hard at him. The nephew gave in. Jane had to admit, the performance was impressive - anyone would think they were really related. 

While the gentlemen handed the ladies into the barouche, Martin approached Jane. "Up you go," he said, and suddenly his hands were around her waist and she was being lifted to the high seat. It was only for an instant, but she could still feel the warmth of his hands as she sat, heart pounding. He started to step up, then paused. "Excuse me, miss." 

Of course! She was sitting where the reins were. She shifted across then glanced back. He was looking at her, a smile in his eyes, then he swiftly looked away. 

The journey was not arduous in the slightest, though Jane did hear the faint sound of a car over the hedgerow. The green of the park gave way to a wood, and Jane enjoyed the dappled sunlight and the sensations of sitting so close to Martin. It felt heady and dangerous, as if they shared an illicit secret that they had to conceal from the world. Martin's long fingers were strong on the reins and she watched them, and wondered what he was thinking. 

As the trees parted Jane on the box was the first to catch sight of the ruin. She caught her breath, entranced by the grey stone glowing in the sunlight. Standing among the green grass were scattered boulders. The grass grew more sparse until it gave way to hard gritty paths and closely thronged stones and fallen walls. Some little distance away a low wall still stood and beyond it two walls parallel to each other, meeting a third in a gothic arch, over which was the ghostly line marking where the roof once covered the structure. 

A gentle pull on the reins and Martin jumped down and reached up a hand to help her down. "I have to stay here with the horses," he whispered as she stepped down. Before she could answer the others were around her and swept her away. 

Miss Charming took Jane's arm. Colonel Andrews was on her other side. Mr Nobley and Miss Heartright followed behind. 

"It's all fallen down," Miss Charming said, with disappointment. 

"Ah," said Colonel Andrews, "but it has a most fascinating history. Grey Cloaks Abbey was the home of an order of nuns and," he lowered his voice, "the woods beyond were the meeting place of the scandalous Hell Fire Club in more recent times." 

"Scandalous?" Miss Charming's voice echoed off the stones. "Now _that_ sounds interesting!" 

The paths were narrow, difficult for two, impossible for three. Jane squeezed Miss Charming's arm. "You know what, I'm going to go and explore." 

"Are you certain, Miss Erstwhile?" Colonel Andrews sounded concerned. Jane nodded and smiled. 

Andrews led Miss Charming to the gravelled space before the gothic arch, and went into tour guide mode. The other two stopped to listen. "This is Grey Cloaks Abbey. It was founded about ..." 

Jane walked away among the stones. The place caught her imagination. It was so old. She touched the remains of a wall, marvelling that this building had been standing before the United States was a country, maybe before Columbus sailed the ocean blue. She trailed a hand along it, imagining how this had all looked when it was standing, hearing in imagination the swish of habits and the voices raised in song. 

Colonel Andrews voice faded. She turned a corner and stopped. Before her was a lone gothic window, its upper border narrow against the blue sky. Within it was framed rough grass sweeping away to low hedges dotted with dog roses, beyond which rose gentle green hills, crowned in deep green forest. She stood in contemplation, enjoying the sun through the cotton of her dress, drinking in the peace of the picture before her, idly wishing she had paints with her, that she had the ability to capture this scene and the feeling it evoked in her. 

She had no idea how long she had been standing before she heard a small cough. She half-turned. Mr Nobley was a few feet away, watching her. 

"It's beautiful," she said, and smiled. He only nodded, a slight frown on his face. Whether against the bright sun or on encountering her, Jane was not certain. 

He looked at the window, then looked again at her. "Tell me, Miss Erstwhile, why are you here?" He waved a hand to encompass, not the abbey, but Austenland as a whole. 

She felt her stomach plunge as, yet again, she was marked out as different. By now she had had enough. 

"Why shouldn't I be here? I have every right to be here." 

The frown battled surprise. "I was not implying otherwise. I was merely..." 

"Good day, Mr Nobley," and Jane inclined her head and walked away, her serenity ripped to shreds. 

She marched around the ruins, fuming. How dare he think she shouldn't be here! Of all the arrogant, conceited... She was still in this frame of mind when Martin found her. 

"You thinking of joining up, gorgeous? Because you're the best part of five hundred years too late." He caught himself and laughed. "I mean three hundred. Besides, if you ask me it would be a waste." 

Jane joined in his laugh and shrugged. "I'm letting them get to me. I shouldn't, but they do." 

"Damn straight you shouldn't," and Martin crossed the gravelled space to take her hand. "They're not worth it. But they _do_ want to go back to the house so we'd better get moving. They sent me to find you." 

They picked their way back through the ruins. Just before they walked into sight of the others, Martin pulled on Jane's hand. With a startled "oh", she was in his arms and he was kissing her, lips eager, hands clenching on her back as if they wanted to move all over her. He pulled back, as breathless as she was. "I've been wanting to do that all day." He traced the line of her nose then sighed. "Back to the grind, I guess. Worst of it is, I'm working with the lads tonight. No rest for the wicked" 

In Regency appropriate manner, he escorted her at arms length to the waiting carriage. If his hand lingered in hers when assisting her onto the box, or their fingers met unseen on the drive back to the house, no-one noticed.

She sat alone that night after dinner, attempting to draw the window as she remembered it. She came to herself when Miss Charming crossed the floor and kicked her foot. 

"Oh!" She looked up and tried to work out what Miss Charming was mouthing at her. "Yes. I am most fatigued after the excursion today. If I might also take my leave..." They both curtseyed and left. Miss Charming shook her head at Jane as soon as they were outside the door. 

"I thought you were going to be scribbling all night. I've got something for you." 

It was, unexpectedly, a woman in a mob cap with a tape measure around her neck, waiting in Miss Charming's room. Miss Charming looked at Jane, excitement and anticipation written all over her face. Jane just looked confused. 

"I don't..." 

"It's the dressmaker!" Miss Charming announced. "I did a deal with her." 

Jane still looked confused. 

"For you! I saw how you looked this morning when Mrs Wattlesbrook sent you away. You deserve a nice dress!" 

Jane was thrilled and grateful and regretful all at once. "You are so kind, but I really couldn't. It's too much and..." 

Miss Charming waved her hands. "Oh pooh! Pooh pooh!" 

"But still..." 

Miss Charming lowered her voice. "You gotta do this Jane. If I gotta be in that room with Miss Heartright for fittings without you, I'm gonna kill her." She reached into the workbasket on the table and pulled out pinking shears. "With these! I'll end up in the slammer for sure. But you can save me. _Please_ Jane." She put her head to one side and looked imploring. "Pleeeeeeese!" 

Jane smiled, shrugged and gave in.


	11. Blessed Relief

_(Email to Emily Nobley, third day at Pembrook Park)_

Dearest Mama,

We had an excursion today. We went to a ruined abbey (abandoned just before the Dissolution of the Monasteries according to A.) where the ladies displayed every degree of artistic appreciation from zero to intense, while A. and I tipped our hats towards the woods where a Hellfire Club (18th century version) reputedly met. As always, Miss E wandered alone like a lost soul. My Dear Aunt may claim it is authentic, but the commercial sense to it escapes me. Her visitors’ confidentiality agreements won’t stop them telling all their friends not to come. 

The trip was a blessed relief, I must admit. Miss H is definitely getting bored with me. I think we both sigh for the arrival of her “true love”, whoever he is. There is only so much promenading around the garden I can do. My Dear Aunt promises croquet in the near future. Is it wrong that the prospect excites me? 

On the positive side, I have finished “Ethical Dilemmas in Elizabethan Crop Production” more quickly than expected. It is a testimony to how little I have to say. I shall have to read it again. I find the unvarnished facts soothing in this world of fantasy. It's also the only book whose appearance passes muster with My Dear Aunt.

Ask Ed if he can ship the Wollstonecraft to me. Tell him I will follow his plan to the letter. 

Your loving son,

Henry.


	12. Too Late

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, third day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

Henry, I know what Ed’s plan was. I will do nothing of the kind. Try being sociable instead of burying yourself in a book. Mimi

Mimi, you’ve left it too late. I’m 36, you’ll never make me sociable now.H.


	13. Workout tips before the Revolution (Day 4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth day: from Jane's pov it's a boring morning while the men are out hunting. She escapes with Martin on the boat in the afternoon. Her return is seen by Nobley, reading "Ethical Dilemmas" on the terrace. In the movie Jane says she might meet Martin later - in my version when she tried he was missing again.

_(Email to Emily Nobley, fourth day at Pembrook Park.)_

Dearest Mama,

I have to admit, you were right. This has proved a perfect place to work.This morning I got two reviews finished while the "men were out hunting". 

Unfortunately my aunt has discovered I have been spending my time off during the day in my room. Apparently walking down the stairs when I "return from hunting" risks "breaking the illusion" so I will be spending my time during the day in the Hellfire Club from now on. It's going to make working a lot more difficult if I want to stay anonymous. I suppose I may at least pick up some workout tips before the Revolution comes. I suggested that she give me greater access to the library as a "Regency appropriate" alternative but My Dearest Aunt is firmly against this. She seems to believe the Austen men did not read, having a preference for wandering around the gardens trying to be interested in idle chatter and playing like children. I suppose I am lucky to be permitted "Ethical Dilemmas" at all. 

Speaking of which, I'm a little concerned about the ethics of this place. What would we think about any other organisation that cut people off from communication with their family and friends, dressed them in odd clothes, imposed strict rules on them and encouraged them to ignore real life? I'm not suggesting Lillian is up to no good, but I wonder if the same can be said of everyone else here? Let's be blunt about this - anyone working here is perfectly placed to prey on the guests. 

I know what you'll say. The guests are intelligent adult women. But I've done enough pastoral care to know being intelligent isn't enough to protect someone. I’ve seen grad students full of promise broken down by manipulating bastards more than once. So what safeguards has Lillian got in place? 

I've hinted at my concerns but Lillian has brushed them aside. She says guests are not left unsupervised but I know that's not strictly true. She says she knows what she is doing and told me in so many words to keep out of it. DOES she know what she's doing?

Your loving son,

Henry.


	14. Suspicion.

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, fourth day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: Henry, I know you and Ed think Lillian is a nutter. She isn't. The visitors are only there for a fortnight. Do you have any real reason for concern? Mimi.

H: It's little more than suspicion. I'm probably imagining things. Hardly surprising in this place I suppose. H. 


	15. Hellfire Club (Day 5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fifth Day. Captain East arrives at breakfast, the party have lunch on the lawn while East tells them of his adventures. Nobley barges into him then informs the ladies they are needed by Mrs Wattlesbrook. Jane goes to find Martin who rebuffs her. The men then retire to the pool (and see more on day 5 in the next chapter)...

_(Email to Emily Nobley, afternoon of the fifth day at Pembrook Park)_

Dearest Mama,

I hope you have your smelling salts to hand. I write this from the Hellfire Club. Since I can’t bring my papers here, I decided to write to you instead and work this evening.

If you were to see anywhere in this place, I wish you could see this. After the strictures of faux Regency society, there is a decadent feel about half-dressed men and women mingling together, which is only heightened by the fact some keep on their wigs. (It is quicker to throw on clothes than a wig, A tells me.) There is ironing, there is open and frank conversation about the visitors (some rather too frank in my opinion), there’s a barbeque and soap operas. It’s like a very domestic Fall of the Roman Empire.

As was the case in Imperial Rome, there are some interesting people here. I’ve just had a cautious conversation with Nigel, one of the footmen, who researches local history. I suspect I now know where A. got his facts about Grey Cloaks Abbey. Portense is writing a stage play, and Barnaby, despite being built like a wrestler, paints rather well. Here as everywhere I suppose it’s easy to see the outer shell and nothing else. 

I am seated a few feet away from our leads. A is an amoral bundle of masks, but there is no nastiness in him. It is rather endearing how he wants everyone to be nice to each other. The other is our new arrival, Capt. E, announced with delight at breakfast by My Dear Aunt. Behind the scenes, he is surprisingly soft spoken, and when coaxed by A to surrender the power socket pouted like a child. 

His public persona is rather different. How can I describe him? A Georgian Jack Sparrow crossed with a Chippendale, perhaps. (The men not the furniture, Mimi, in case you don’t know.) He also has an unfortunate compulsive need to reveal his chest.

Obviously both Miss H and I were delighted to see him, for somewhat different reasons. However Capt. E has decided to go off script and woo Miss E instead, in the most grotesquely over the top fashion. Miss H has taken refuge in the cake trolley. I am tempted to join her.

We were treated at lunch to the tale of how E “became captain”. I wish Dad could have heard it. He would have laughed until he could laugh no more, then treated us all to a two-hour lecture on naval history complete with slides, probably starting with his infamous “This is a ship. The closed end goes into the water.” 

Yes, it was at that level of inanity. 

I trust the good captain will return to his mission and free me from mine. Meanwhile, I shall attempt to work up the courage to change and have a swim. All these perfect bodies are very intimidating. 

Your loving son,

Henry. 

PS: I had wondered why my aunt was so wary of telling me what year we are in. She claims we are in the Regency period and Nigel tells me this house was built in 1809. So far so good, but East's recent naval battles against the Napoleonic fleets in the West Indies clearly suggest the year is 1805. Alas for authenticity!


	16. My Mother is a Ninja

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fifth day continued: Jane is forced to sing and performs "Hot in Herre", she goes out to the stables and is warned off by Nobley. On her return to the house she is attacked by Mr Wattlesbrook. Andrews takes Mr W away while Nobley checks on Jane. Jane goes to her room, rings Molly and tells her what a bad choice going to Pembrook House was. She then goes to Miss Charming and declares she's going to take charge of her story. 
> 
> Meanwhile...

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, fifth day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

(3:02 PM) 

M: Dear boy. I do know who the Chippendales are. Mimi. 

(Between 10:45 and 11:52 PM) 

H: This place should be shut down. H.

M: What happened? Mimi

H: Mr W tried to assault Miss E. Unwise of him - she fought him off most effectively. She says that she’s fine. I hope she really is. H.

M: Have you told Lillian? Mimi.

H: You don't seem very surprised, mother. H. 

M: He lunged at me once, many years ago. I kicked him in the shins and slapped his face for him. Henry, I honestly didn’t know he made a habit of it. Mimi.

H: So my mother is a ninja. Why am I not surprised? H. 

M: Henry, For goodness sake be serious. Have you told Lillian? Mimi

H: Not yet but I will. I'm not convinced the staff will tell her and she has to know. It’s happened before, Mimi. It can’t just be ignored. H. 

M: No, of course not. Please don't be angry, but I think it might be wiser to wait until the end of your stay to tell her. I worry that Lillian would not react well. Mimi 

H: Her husband is attacking her guests, Mimi. How could she take it well? H. 

M: I would worry that she would act rashly. Henry, I think it wiser to wait. Mimi.

H: You think she would blame Miss E. That's what you're really saying. H. 

M: Yes, I do think that. I think she might kick her out. Mimi 

H: Andrews hinted the same thing. But why should she do that? H. 

M: She's very loyal to him. It seems unfair to me that Miss E should suffer for this. What did your Andrews suggest? Mimi 

H: He says he and the boys will keep Mr W out of circulation. But I don't like it. H. 

M: I think that would be best. Mimi. 

H: I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. Fine, I'll wait, but only on condition he's removed. If I see him, I will tell Lillian. The safety of guests and staff has to come first. H. 

H: And I WILL tell her. She needs to be told the truth. There's a point where loyalty is stupidity, and I should know. H. 

M: I agree. I'm sorry I talked you into going. Mimi. 

H: I'm rather glad you did, given what just happened. H. 

M: Was W the person you were concerned about? Mimi 

H: That's the worst of it. No, he wasn't. H.


	17. Ethical Dilemmas (Day 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sixth day: extra scene. The day after Mr W's attack, and the theft of Miss H's gowns. 
> 
> The first of the "Betty Davis Eyes" days.

It had been a wonderful day. It was all that she had dreamed of in New York. She was admired. She was sought after. She felt beautiful. Captain East was struck dumb when she made her appearance at breakfast. Colonel Andrews flirted with her. Both wished to take her arm when they walked out in the garden. Even the footmen were smitten. It was wonderful. 

“I don’t mind you borrowing Colonel Andrews for a while,” Miss Charming told Jane. “As long as he doesn’t come back shop-soiled, if you know what I mean!” She aimed her elbow at Jane’s ribs, then rubbed it absent-mindedly. Nudging corsets is hard on the elbows.

It was true that not everyone was thrilled. Mrs Wattlesbrook had a suspicious air, but she could hardly come right out and ask where the dresses had come from. Miss Heartright seemed preoccupied and as the day went on Mr Nobley became ever more quiet. Perhaps her father was opposing the match or something. 

After they went to change for dinner, and Jane reviewed the day with Miss Charming, that lady unexpectedly hugged her. “Jane, it’s just wonderful to see you look so happy!” 

And she was happy. Just not perfectly happy. 

It was greedy, she knew, but she wanted it all. She wanted Nobley to dance attendance, to compliment her...heck, just to smile like he had last night when trying to reassure her. So when Mrs Wattlesbrook was called away and the rest were playing whist, Jane tried to draw him out. 

“Mr Nobley, I implore you to read to me.” 

He stopped reading and looked up with an expressionless face. “Is there no-one else to amuse you?” 

“I want you to amuse me.” 

“Very well.”

He started to read aloud. His voice was low, but clear and expressive. It might even have been a romantic moment if he had not chosen to read from his own book. 

“Wood cites the complaint by 360 cottagers from Tideswell in 1576 against the Earl of Shrewsbury, who they claimed had deprived them of their only source of livelihood by enclosing pastureland in the Peak forest. Though after our period, Carr's study of the parish of Hope in 1658 gives us some indication of the level of dependence on the common. In the township of Bradwell, some 50 per cent of households were landless; in Abney 73 per cent; in Little Hucklow 76 per cent and in Wardlow some 77 percent. For these villagers, the poorest and most marginal in society, survival depended on both the expanses of common and the large open fields to which they had limited common rights. ” 

He paused and looked sideways at her. “Do you wish me to read the footnotes?” His sarcasm plucked the last two syllables as if they were strings. 

Jane was struck speechless. She dearly wanted to ask what the hell his problem was, but she had no idea how to put it into Regency appropriate language. Before she had a chance to try Colonel Andrews stepped in. 

“Odds bods, Nobley. How unspeakably boring. Hardly the sort of thing to amuse a lady.” 

He rose from the table. “You take my hand and I”, bowing toward Jane, “shall undertake to read to Miss Erstwhile.” 

“You are a true gentleman, Colonel Andrews,” Jane responded, hoping that Mr Nobley got the implication. 

“Very well, Andrews,” was all Nobley said, closing his book. As he placed it on the seat, his back was to the rest. He did not look at her but his lips moved. She could barely hear the words. 

“I do not like games.” 

He might have meant the cards, but Jane was pretty certain the words were aimed at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes to that "extract" from "Ethical Dilemmas in Elizabethan Crop Production":  
> Wood, A. (2004) The Politics of Social Conflict: The Peak Country, 1520–1770. Cambridge University Press, 67.  
> Carr, J. P. (1963) 'Open field agriculture in mid-Derbyshire', DAJ, 83, 66-81


	18. Don't Step On Me

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, night, sixth day at Pembrook Park)_

Dearest Mama, 

You will want to know how Miss E is. She is well, very well in fact. This injury added to insult seems to have been the last straw. Appropriately enough she has adopted the motto "don't step on me" and is asserting her independence with a vengeance. 

I suspect Miss C's hand in this, since she could hardly be more delighted at this turn of events. I have to assume Miss E's new outfits are her doing. I am pretty certain they are not my aunt's. Thus attired all have fallen before the fledgling republic, from the footmen to A who I would have suspected would be immune. I surmise that a treaty is imminent with the West Indies, who needless to say are delighted. I know Capt E is sincere in his admiration, since I overheard him say at the Hellfire that he would happily “slap that in a bun”. High praise indeed. 

But I am glad that Miss E has had no ill effects from the events of last night. She is entitled to her fun as much as anyone else here. If Capt. E has made her realise that, then good for him. Now he has done his good deed, perhaps he’ll do what he’s supposed to be here for, and take Miss H off my hands. Then with any luck Lillian will allow me a strategic retreat.

Your loving son,

Henry.


	19. Ill Effects

_Texts from Emily Nobley, sixth day in Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: I'm glad Miss E suffered no ill effects. How are you? Mimi. 

H: Growing rather tired of this place. I forgot to mention: Mr W hasn't made an appearance. H.


	20. Dance and Drink and Laugh and Lie (Day 7)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The seventh day: additional scene. The second of the "Betty Davis Eyes" days.

The next day Jane ignored Mr Nobley completely. If he noticed he gave absolutely no sign of it. On their promenade around the garden he walked with Miss Heartright while Jane and Lizzy walked alternately with Captain East and Colonel Andrews. 

As Captain East helped her across a puddle, Jane saw Martin in the distance, watching. Something about the slope of his shoulders suggested hurt. Jane looked away. He had rejected her, after all. She wasn't going to allow the sight of him ruin her time here. 

After dinner, Colonel Andrews turned the conversation to the ball. A mere six days away! Jane could hardly believe it would be so soon. 

“I hope I’ll remember all the steps,” Miss Charming said. “They seem vewy complicated.” 

“You will float through the dance as the angel you are,” Andrews replied, with every appearance of adoration. 

“The dance master will be here tomorrow morning,” Mrs Wattlesbrook said, somewhat more practically. 

“Perhaps we could practice now?” suggested Miss Heartright. “We do not all have the benefit of a dance master,” and she turned a look of compassionate sympathy on Jane that made the latter lady heartily wish to slap her. 

“ A capital plan!” cried Colonel Andrews. “We can have two couple, turn and turn about so the ladies do not get fatigued.” 

“We have no music,” Mr Nobley observed. They were the first words he had said since dinner. 

“I shall play. You and Captain East shall dance. There is no difficulty.” 

Jane saw the look passed from Mrs Wattlesbrook to Nobley which said, clear as day, _do it and do not complain_. She smothered a smile. 

“Very well,” said Nobley and stood up without even pretence at enthusiasm. 

The first dance was Miss Heartright and Mr Nobley, with Miss Charming and Captain East. Jane particularly admired the footwork of the Captain, as he valiantly tried to keep his feet from being stepped on. Miss Heartright and Mr Nobley danced elegantly and unemotionally, like a pair of clockwork dancers. 

“Jane, Jane, your go next,” called Miss Charming as the set ended. She went to sit on the piano stool beside Andrews. 

Jane stepped forward and was claimed by Captain East. “I have been waiting for this moment from the instant I saw you”, he whispered, kissing her hand. Jane was pretty sure Nobley rolled his eyes, but he was stony faced when she looked directly at him. 

Besides murmurs of praise from East to Jane, the dancers were silent. Every word could be heard by all, so it was no place for a tete-a-tete. 

The third set ran into a problem. “I only wanna dance with you,” Miss Charming crooned, laying her head on Andrews’ shoulder. 

“Well, I am excessively fatigued,” Miss Heartright said. “I simply cannot dance another step.” 

Mrs Wattlesbrook stepped in. “I shall play. It would be such a pity for Miss Charming not to dance.” Nobley took the opportunity to slip to a seat and watch the dancers. Miss Heartright followed suit as Miss Charming and the Colonel joined Jane and the Captain. 

They danced the set. It was much more fun when Miss Charming was dancing too, Jane decided. Most things were more fun with Miss Charming involved. 

“I do apologise.” That was Colonel Andrews. “I’ve put my foot under yours again.”  
“Don’t mention it! Pip pip!” That was Miss Charming.  
“You are a vision!” That was Captain East.  
“You flatter me sir.” That was Jane. 

It was so much fun that they danced another. Jane was getting a little tired of the stream of honeyed words from Captain East. She looked across at Nobley. He looked more morose than ever. 

Andrews looked where Jane was looking. “By the deuce, old chap, you look like you’re at a funeral. Cheer up, what?” 

Jane could hear Miss Heartright clearly. “What troubles you so, Mr Nobley? I should dearly love to know what you are thinking.” 

“I don’t believe that you would,” that gentleman replied. 

A moment later he started to speak. Jane could only assume one of those aunt-nephew “do as you’re told” looks had happened. “I was thinking about “Fashion à la Victime.” 

“Sounds French,” Colonel Andrews said. “Naughty!”  
“People called me a Fashion Victim,” Miss Charming remarked. “When leopard print was in.”  
“I am a victim of l’amour, slain by your sparkling eyes,” said Captain West.  
“Um, thanks,” said Jane. 

“But what is that?” said Miss Heartright. “Fashion à la Victime? What can that be?” 

“It is said that it was a style in France, at the end of the last century, before the rise of Napoleon.” Jane caught Mrs Wattlebrooks approving nod. 

“Jumped up little corporal,” remarked Andrews. 

“The stories say,” Mr Nobley continued. “soon after the Terror ended, “Bals des Victimes” were held by the relations of those executed, in memory of the slain. Those attending dressed in the fashion à la victime. Both women and men had their hair cropped as if for execution, shorn short at the back leaving the neck clear for the blade of the guillotine to do its work.” At the mention of the guillotine Miss Heartright gasped and fanned herself with her hand. 

“I don’t believe this is a suitable tale for the ladies,” Andrews said. 

“Golly gosh, go on, go on!” said Miss Charming. 

“The men wore black armbands and the women, it is said, wore red ribbons close around their necks in memory of their loved ones’ fate, and red ribbons across their bodies to symbolise the blood that flowed. Dressed in this fashion they danced and drank. Dancing on the tombs, a later commentator called it.” 

Jane could hear the piano notes getting more intermittent. Mrs Wattlesbrook clearly was not enamoured with the story. 

“Macabre!” said Andrews, drawing out the word. 

“Horrible!” said Miss Charming with enthusiasm.

“How grotesque!” said Miss Heartright. “I feel quite faint.” 

“Perhaps,” Mr Nobley said. “But is it not as grotesque to do as we do? If they wore their sorrows on their sleeves and danced, we bury ours in pretence and do the same.” 

“Dance and drink and laugh and lie,” Jane murmured. Nobley clearly heard her words, for he caught her eye for a moment then looked away. 

“But what else is a woman to do?” said Miss Heartright, with strained passion. “Men may do what they wish, but what is a woman to do but pretend and lock her sorrow within her bosom?” In her emotion she clenched her fist over that very spot. Nobley looked sideways at her then returned his gaze to the dancers.

“Won’t fit much sorrow in there,” muttered Miss Charming. 

Jane was turning so missed the look of scorching heat Captain East shot at Miss Heartright. Mr Nobley on the other hand saw it clearly. He frowned a little and turned his head. 

The set ended. All the dancers declined another. Mr Nobley excused himself and left the room. 

“That story was pretty cool!” Miss Charming said to Jane as they sat in her boudoir. “But what was it all about?” 

Jane wondered much the same thing.

* * *

“You played that excellently, Captain East,” said Mrs Wattlesbrook. She was having her regularly nightly meetings with her staff. “Wonderful improvising. Perfectly timed for the next act of your drama.” 

“Thanks,” said George, quietly as usual. “Just felt right, you know?” 

Andrews was more forthcoming. “And might I say, Mrs Waddlesbrook, that speech you gave Nobley was inspired? It gave me chills, positively chills!” 

Which was all very nice, of course, except Lillian Wattlesbrook hadn’t written it. She looked across the table at her nephew. She didn’t expect the kind of status reports that she got from the others, naturally, but all the same, Henry was especially quiet tonight. 

She had expected a touch of misanthropy, in fact her scripts depended on it. She hadn’t expected Byronic gloom.

“Are you quite well, Henry?” 

He looked a little surprised at the concern in her tone. As a rule Lillian always addressed her players as she would in front of the guests. It made slips less likely. 

“I’m perfectly well, thank you Aunt.” 

When he left she bit her thumb and thought. All these people, his only recreation in the rest area with the other artistes - perhaps it was too much. Perhaps he needed more solitude. 

She would have to think of something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane is quoting from Dorothy Parker's "The Flaw in Paganism":
>
>> Drink and dance and laugh and lie,  
> Love, the reeling midnight through.  
> For tomorrow we shall die!  
> (But, alas, we never do.)
> 
> [Fashion a la Victime](http://www.fashionencyclopedia.com/fashion_costume_culture/European-Culture-18th-Century/Fashion-la-Victime.html). Did the balls really happen? [It's controversial.](http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/2902948?sid=21105495467821&uid=4&uid=3738744&uid=2)


	21. Bals des Victimes

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, seventh day at Pembrook Park)_

Dearest Mama, 

I am very glad Lillian forced me to go to the Hellfire Club. The most surreal looking part of this place is actually the most sane. I have to watch my tongue, but at least I can listen to real people having real conversations that actually express what they really think. 

For the fantasy land, we walked, we lied, we danced and pretended to be happy. Or at least they did. You know how bad I am at pretending. 

When they allowed me escape to the corner, I watched the playacting and thought of the legend of the Bals des Victimes and of “The Scarlet Pimpernel”. I know you hate that book, and that its historical accuracy is sketchy at best but it has atmosphere. That was precisely the atmosphere in the room. A feeling of being trapped, of discontent and unhappiness masked by forced gaiety. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. 

I truly detest this place. I know I am being ridiculous, but there it is. 

I am sticking out the next week, but I will never do this again. 

Your loving son,

Henry.


	22. Self Pity

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, sixth day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: Henry, are you all right? Mimi

H: Mimi, I wrote that email in a fit of self-pity. I should never have sent it. I’m fine, honestly. H.

M: I don't think you are. Since William died you've mailed me every day and you've never once sounded like that. Mimi. 

M: You haven't sounded like that since that woman left you. Mimi. 

H: I don't really want to be psychoanalysed by text, Mimi. I suppose I am reminded of Sophia here. AL IS all about playing at commitment. H. 

M: I'm not trying to pry. Mimi. 

H: Then don't. I'm a big boy Mimi. Please don't worry. H.


	23. Tumbril (Day 8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seventh day: in the movie, this covers the croquet game, the hay cart coming for Jane, and Amelia Heartright being rather frighteningly insistent about Captain East.

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, seventh day at Pembrook Park)_

Dearest Mama, 

Apologies for my gothic fit of yesterday. Honestly, Mimi, I am perfectly fine. Besides, it was clearly a premonition. Today a tumbril arrived for Miss E. 

We were playing a bad tempered game of croquet when the hay cart came with Miss E’s trunk. My Dear Aunt had discovered “an unmentionable”, and before your imagination runs riot I have to tell you it was a bright pink mobile phone. This, naturally, was a capital crime especially after the song. 

With everything else that happened I never told you about the song. The evening when Mr W tried to assault her, A had earlier pressured Miss E to sing for the company. She was clearly in no mood to, but My Dear Aunt stepped in and made it an order. Miss E. then treated us to that well known Georgian ditty “Hot in Herre”. I suspect you don’t know this song, dear mama, so I must tell you that the first lines Miss E sang were, “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes.” I thought My Dear Aunt would have an apoplectic fit. The performance was both justified and, to quote Miss C, “frigging awesome”. 

Mr W appears to be permanently absent, by the way. I don’t know if he’s left or if the boys have him tied up somewhere. 

So, given the song and the phone and Capt. E’s pursuit, it is perfectly understandable My Dear Aunt would seek to eject Miss E. Understandable and entirely hypocritical, given that I know for a fact Miss C has a television in her room. She and A were discussing Capt. E’s soap opera, under the veil of “rumours about Capt. E’s times in the Indies.” Miss C was unable to think of a euphemism for a machine gun. 

Back to the tumbril. Miss H stepped into the breach and claimed the phone as hers. Since Miss H keeps AL afloat (if you believe A), My Dear Aunt was forced to back down. I was surprised by Miss H. She spoke up admirably. It seems that Miss H and Miss E (“Amelia” and “darling Jane”) are now bosom friends. Little wonder Miss E was subdued this evening. I wonder what my aunt will do next. 

I wrote the line above and suddenly wonder just why A has decided Miss E and I must put aside our differences and become chums. (His method, by the way, is to tease me while telling Miss E what a capital chap I am, then tease her while telling me what a charming damsel she is. She takes it more gracefully than I do. I did not sign on for this.) 

Your loving son,

Henry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumbrils = the carts in which people were transported to the guillotine.


	24. Authentic 18th century Mama

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, seventh day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: I am glad to see you are in a better mood. What’s wrong with being chums with Miss E? I think I would enjoy it very much. Mimi

M: BTW I watched the song on YouTube. I wish I could have seen Lillian’s face. Mimi. 

H: Mimi, it surpassed all your imaginings. I’m sure you and Miss E would be the best of friends. I’m afraid she and I rub each other up the wrong way. H.

M: So you ARE rude to her. It’s Annabel’s wedding all over again. Mimi.

H: What happened to not prying? If you must know, I just say the wrong thing. It’s not intentional.

M: Maybe you should try not saying the wrong thing. Or apologising when you do. Mimi

H: I am an adult. I will not be lectured about politeness by my mother. It’s ridiculous. H. 

M: I’m simply being an authentic 18th century mama. Mimi.

H: No wonder the 18th century saw a concerted movement to undermine old authorities. H.

M: Old? I am now entirely on Miss E’s side :) Mimi. 

H: I suspect you always were. H.


	25. Of The Study Of History (Day 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ninth day: additional scene. This is the day where in the movie where the ladies are sticking things on hats and then get told about the planned theatricals. In the morning...

“Henry, dear,” his aunt had called down the table to him.

“A moment, Miss Heartright.” She hadn’t been saying anything worth listening to and he hadn’t really been listening. Both had their thoughts elsewhere. 

“Yes, Aunt? How may I be of service?” 

“The work on your estate will begin soon, will it not?” 

What on earth was going on now? “Yes, Aunt.” 

“I can tell you are preoccupied with it. Am I not correct?” 

“You see everything,” said with a certain degree of reservation. There were things My Dear Aunt missed. 

“If you prefer,” and really, was that arch tone strictly necessary, “you might look through our works here. It is a shame to miss the hunting, but I know that for you, duty comes before pleasure.” 

“I thank you, Aunt,” and his gratitude was in no way forced. “I shall start work immediately.” 

His aunt smiled graciously on him, then rose. “Gentlemen, please excuse us. Ladies?” The ladies rose and left the room. 

Andrews leaned across the table. “Dash it, Nobley, why did you agree to a damn fool thing like that, sir?” 

“I think it best to keep my aunt happy,” seemed the most diplomatic answer. 

“Of course, of course. You won’t be giving up billiards I trust?” 

“Not unless I am forced,” and that was entirely true. The Hellfire Club was the only place in which he could relax.

* * *

Jane wandered the house alone. The two others were receiving an extra dance lesson and Mrs Wattlesbrook had told her to “do run along and amuse yourself, there’s a good girl.” The conversation at breakfast had reminded her that she had finished her book. What better time to get a new one? 

She had no expectation at all that Mr Nobley would be there. Surely there would be no point? Yet when she peeped in the door, there he was, halfway up the library ladder, methodically scanning the shelves and pulling out a book here and a book there. On the desk was a small stack of other books, with a litter of lead holders and sheets of paper covered with notes.

Curious, she watched. He came down the ladder with his books and went through them one by one, adding one or two titles to the list. The ones added were placed on the small stack, the rejected ones piled on the desk. 

He never wavered and never once gave any sign he knew he was being watched. He was more relaxed than Jane had ever seen him. His shirt was open at the neck, with his cravat lying on the chair on top of his coat. Sorting done, he returned the rejected books to the shelf, to all appearances taking pains to replace them where they had originally come from. 

Since he apparently was going to keep doing this until she made her presence known, she gently pushed the door further ajar. The start he gave was most realistic, as was the sudden glance at the chair, as if realising his unsuitable attire. 

“Miss Erstwhile. To what do I owe this pleasure?” In contrast to his ill temper of the past few days, he seemed almost happy. 

Jane stayed safely on the other side of the doorway. Technically, they were still in different rooms. “I came to borrow a novel. But I see you are busy.” 

“Wait a moment.” Jane turned as Mr Nobley sat down on the steps. “Find your novel. Even my aunt can hardly object when we are separated by ten feet.” 

Jane considered for a moment, then scurried in. The small bookcase containing the novels which guests were permitted to remove from the library was just inside the door. 

Jane was conscious of Mr Nobley’s eyes on her. Somehow the quiet room made her feel like she could feel his gaze, boring into her back. She decided to break the silence. 

“You seem at home here.” 

“Indeed.” That was not particularly helpful. Jane tried again. 

“Perhaps you love learning so well that you prefer the company of books to people?” She ventured a peek at him. He was still sitting relaxed on the library steps, his books shelved, watching her. 

“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” and there was something in the turn of his mouth that made Jane suspect he was perfectly aware that he was quoting. “I _am_ a great reader, but I take pleasure in many things. It depends entirely on the books...and on the people.” 

Jane considered this, then boldly left the bookshelf and crossed to the desk. She lifted the books to read the spines. They were all works on agriculture. “Is the present company really less interesting than “Practical Agriculture, Or, A Complete System of Modern Husbandry?” she asked. 

“Not the _present_ company, no,” he answered from the foot of the ladder. He had come down so softly that she hadn’t noticed. Jane felt a sudden, irrational panic. She dropped the book and hurried back to the safety of the bookcase. When she turned, Mr Nobley was calmly adding the book she had examined to a pile in his arms and carrying them towards the ladder as if nothing had happened. 

Nothing had happened. Still, Jane slowed her breathing and tried to calm her thundering heart. 

“Do you disapprove of novels?” Silence might suggest she was affected by his presence and she did not want this man to think that of her. 

Mr Nobley turned from his reshelving, a slight frown on his face. “Of course not. I might speak, in my defence, of my admiration of good novels, of their wit and grace and well-chosen language.” He turned back and replaced two books. “I might praise their depiction of human nature, of how they deepen our sympathy with others.” The last book went into its place. He turned and sat on the step. “But I will content myself with saying I have read every one of the books in that bookcase.” 

Jane turned to look at the bookcase. It was small, but she still wasn't sure she believed him. “Really?” 

“How many have you read?” and those eyebrows were challenging her again. And she had to admit it was hardly impossible to have read them all, because she had done so herself. 

“Okay, point taken. But why not reread them rather than reading about Elizabethan crops?” 

“You see no point in it?” 

“Not much, no.” 

He considered her a moment, then glanced past her, out the open library door. 

“Do you disapprove of history?” 

Jane smiled in appreciation of the reworking of her words. “Not disapprove.” 

“You dislike it, then?” 

Which was, of course a ridiculous thing to say to a 21st century woman, wearing Regency accurate clothing down to the underwear, standing in a perfect Austen period library. “Of course not! I read history.” 

“You mean novels set in the past.” 

Jane felt nettled, as she so often did speaking to him. “No. I mean history books.” 

“Ah. So is it merely the unglamorous parts you dislike? The toil, the dirt, the great unwashed? They bore you?”

Jane would have squirmed, if you could do that in a corset. “No. I can see why you might think that, but no.” 

He actually looked curious. “Why then?” 

Jane considered. “I think...it’s just your book is rather dry.”

He actually laughed, a gentle laugh that changed his whole expression. “Well, I can hardly argue with that. The author is no Hume.” A small smile remained on his face. “You should try Hume, as long as you don’t believe everything he says. His essay recommending the study of history to women might amuse you.” 

“Really?” Jane was starting to enjoy this conversation. “And why did he think women should read history?” 

“To learn that neither men nor women are perfect, and that there is more to life than love.” 

There was a brief appalled silence. 

“I think I must go,” Jane told the books just over Mr. Nobley's head. “I apologise for disturbing you.” 

She was over the threshold when she heard him call, “Wait!” Such was the authority in his voice she actually waited, turning to see him approach. About a foot away from the doorway he stopped. 

“If you thought that I was implying...,” The words hung in the air. “I was not implying anything,” he finished lamely. “I had no intention of offending you." 

In the dim light he did look sorry. Jane found herself wondering how much was scripted and how much improvised. Did Mrs Wattlesbrook know Jane would come here today? Were there hidden cameras? She bobbed a curtsy. “It’s quite all right. Pray do not disturb yourself.”

She felt him watching as she walked away. 

Half an hour later, to satisfy her own curiosity, Jane went back to the library and peeped through the door. Mr Nobley was now reading at the desk, making notes as he went. There was a smudge of graphite on his brow. She watched him for a few minutes, apparently quite unaware of her presence. 

“You're so method, aren’t you?” she said aloud. 

“What?” The start and look of confusion were so well done, Jane had to smile. 

“I must apologise again for disturbing you, Mr Nobley,” she said, and quietly withdrew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The essay by Hume: [Of The Study Of History](http://www.ourcivilisation.com/smartboard/shop/humed/history.htm).


	26. It was the Best of Times...

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, eighth day at Pembrook Park)_

Dearest Mama,

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. 

My Dear Aunt permitted me the morning in the library. A proper concern for my estate apparently absolves me from hunting. I have no idea why she changed her mind, but I am very glad she did. There are some treatises on agriculture here I have never seen before. 

So after a morning of transcribing and (let’s be frank) planning a major book robbery came lunch. After lunch the blow fell. 

Apparently we are all to act in a theatrical production. You can only guess at my joy and excitement. 

At least A is cleared of all charges of conniving. I was called to the boudoir of My Dear Aunt and told that I was merely to rehearse with Miss E and keep her out of the way, not attempt to charm her. Lillian may have slipped the word “fortunately” in there, I can’t be sure. I was still reeling from the shock of the theatrical announcement. 

My protests have been countered with the promise of full access to the library during my free time *if* I comply. I plan to still “play billiards” however. The membership of the Hellfire Club is not a thing to be abandoned lightly. 

Your loving son

Henry


	27. Cut-price Coriolanus

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, eighth day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: Lillian must be desperate. What play is it? What character are you playing? Mimi.

H: To ask me to act? Yes, she must. Lillian wrote the play. I play a sort of cut-price Coriolanus. H. 

M: That doesn’t sound romantic enough for Lillian. Mimi.

H: He expires in his lady’s arms after finally confessing his love. H. 

M: THAT sounds like Lillian. I hope you will try to be pleasant to poor Miss E? Mimi. 

H: Of course. Mother, did you have to tell Ed? H.


	28. A Lovely Bottom

_(Texts from Edward Nobley, eighth day at Pembrook Park.)_

E: YOU in a play? Have they seen you act? 

H: As far as I know Lillian never saw any of my nativity plays in primary school, so no. H. 

E: Is it true you got out of playing a tree in the First Year school play because you were too wooden? 

H: Ha ha. Yes to the reason, no to the part. I have never wanted to act. H. 

E: And yet here you are. 

H: Here I am. Acting in a play within a play. Nothing foreboding there. H. 

E: Lighten up. You're not in Denmark. Probably A Midsummer Night’s Dream. 

H: Funny you should say that, there's more than a hint of it in Lillian's play. H.

E: You’ll make a lovely Bottom. 

H: Oh, go away Edward. H.


	29. Singe the Curtains (Day 10)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ninth day. In my timeline, this is the first day they rehearse in the garden, where he admits that she makes him nervous, and they discuss Austenland, Jane's sketches and Henry as Darcy.

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, ninth day at Pembrooke Park.)_

Dearest Mama,

A quiet day, thank the heavens! The library is worth the theatricals. Almost. 

Miss E and I have had our first rehearsal. Our characters are parted early on, so the time mostly consisted of one listening to the other while trying to keep a straight face. Yes, you may be staggered to hear that there is another person in the world who is as bad an actor as I am. 

Before you ask, we also managed not to come to blows. We even had a civilised conversation. 

A “game of billiards”, then dinner and an evening in the drawing room playing whist rounded off the day. Miss H seems perfectly content with her exchange. (She is rehearsing with Captain E.) The heated glances across the room all but singe the curtains. 

Your loving son, 

Henry


	30. Vote of Confidence

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, ninth day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: Are you being polite or is she putting up with you? Mimi 

H: Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mimi. Both. H.


	31. Tip Me the Wink (Day 11)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot in today: the [deleted scene where they start rehearsing the "is that blood upon your breast" lines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zEXnXDCTBB8), the [deleted scene where they end up "awkwardly entangled"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bclkB4digfQ), the scene from the movie where they see Amelia and George "rehearsing" and [the deleted scene where Jane receives the gift of the paints](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uCW-QdEghAA) (which is what Barnaby is talking about below).

_(Handwritten note from Barnaby Rudge to Henry Nobley, left by hand in Henry Nobley's room. Eleventh day at Pembrook Park.)_

Couldn't get the stuff yesterday, had to get Andrews to sign for it. He didn’t mind but it took longer. Slipped the gear into her room this evening with the note. Thanks for the extra. You need anything else, tip me the wink. Happy to oblige. 

Barnaby


	32. Little I Can Report

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, eleventh day at Pembrook Park.)_

Dearest Mama, 

I really have very little I can report. Today was much as yesterday: library in the morning, rehearsing in the afternoon, wondering if the glances between Miss H and Captain E will set fire to the soft furnishings in the evening. 

Alas! The dreaded Performance is tomorrow. Would that we could put it off. I hope no fans of theatre will be in attendance. 

Your loving son,

Henry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Very little I can Report, " or as Elizabeth Bennett thought, when Maria said how much she should have to tell, "And how much I shall have to conceal.''


	33. Chums After All

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, eleventh day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

M: Very little you CAN tell? Have you been arguing with Miss E again? Mimi

H: If I was would I get another lecture? We are not arguing. H. 

M: So will A get his wish - are you becoming chums after all? Mimi.

H: Perhaps. H.

M: Such enthusiasm! Mimi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mimi is failing at the not prying...


	34. Not a Romantic (Day 12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today includes the [deleted scene with the mirror](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ttptrLtooRI), the scene where Jane meets Martin and he apologises, the scene below, the play itself, and the scene in Jane's room.

The library was peaceful but he couldn't concentrate. His attention kept wandering. He realised what the problem was when he caught himself looking at the half open door. He was hoping she would come to disturb him again. 

She did disturb him, there was no denying it. He had started with concern, then bounced between admiration, irritation and an odd despair. Now, he wasn't quite sure what he felt. She was fascinating, charming, _real_. Real was in short supply here and thus a valuable commodity. 

Not that she saw herself that way. She lacked the self-assurance of the other two guests. Even when admired, she seemed surprised rather than taking applause as her due. 

That was why, on impulse, he had brought her a mirror this morning. He wanted her to see herself as he did, as significant, as important. He wanted a record made of her presence here, rather than allowing her to efface herself from her own sketchbook. 

He wanted to talk to her, but he could not find the words. Neither, after yesterday, did he entirely trust himself alone with her. His action at the Temple had been an impulse, a joke to get her back for her teasing but once he tackled her and she was there, in his arms, so close... If she hadn't pointed out he was still holding her, he would have kissed her. 

Or would he? Would he still be there, frozen to the spot? Why couldn't he just talk to her? A mirror, for gods sake? Was that really the best he could do? 

He was not a romantic - Sophia had told him so often enough. He was sensible, practical, dependable and whatever other boring virtues you wanted to add. So what the hell was he doing? 

This would be over soon, but in another way it would never be over. He felt the stirrings of discontent that he knew he would take home as a souvenir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course Henry is being less than frank with himself here. He [definitely checked Jane out after the horse incident...](http://canterburyfic.tumblr.com/post/112706266742/jjfeildd-may-i-direct-your-gaze-to-nobley-totally)


	35. I Take Up My Pen

_(A note found by Henry Nobley in "Ethical Dilemmas in Elizabethan Crop Production", twelfth day at Pembrook Park.)_

I take up my pen to write you my thanks, since I am not certain that you heard them this morning. It was a most thoughtful gift. Break a leg tonight (wow, that sounds awful!) J.


	36. A Shambles, a Disaster and a Travesty

_(Email from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley and Edward Nobley, twelfth day at Pembrook Park.)_

Dearest Mama, and Edward, 

“Your play needs no excuse” said Theseus. This is how we can be certain that he was not watching “Three Loves, A Play in One Act”. 

It was a shambles, a disaster and a travesty from beginning to end. It was worse than the Nativity Play where I refused to give Mary the lamb and Joseph hit me with the crook. It was even worse than that arty thing Ed was in at uni. It was abysmal. It was also the most fun I have had for the past two weeks, and possibly for longer. 

The horror went far beyond the acting, and I use that term extremely loosely. I briefly thought it was to be literal horror when Miss C hit Miss H in the eye with love's arrow, but the injury was superficial and the show went on. 

There came a point (possibly after I inadvertently hit Capt. E in the balls) that I knew no matter what happened, the thing couldn’t get any worse. Miss E and I started laughing at the whole farce backstage and couldn’t stop when we went back on to do my death scene. (Andrews already did the corpsing joke, Ed, so you needn’t bother.) 

I am extremely glad neither of you were here to see it, though I’m sure Ed would have appreciated the bit about Aphrodite’s large arse. 

The ball is tomorrow, so I won’t mail you until late Mimi. 

Good night,

Henry.


	37. Be Sure

_(Texts from Edward Nobley, twelfth day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

10:30 PM 

E: So,a Midsummer Night’s Dream? 

H: Yes, though like Hamlet in that everyone died. H.

E: So are you Demetrius or Lysander? 

10:45 PM to 11:15 PM 

E: Either you've been struck dead or you have something to confess. 

H: Go away Edward. H. 

E: Touchy! I’ll go and ring Mimi then. 

H: Don’t breathe a word of this to Mimi. If you do I WILL track you down. 

E: I’m not going to say anything, you know that. So are you Demetrius or Lysander? 

H: I don’t know. 

E: It’s Miss E, isn’t it? 

H: How the hell did you guess that? Has Mimi been talking?

E: No. I only know 3 names and you wouldn’t have been half so light-hearted about the eye incident if you were interested in either of those two. Obviously. 

E: So what could Mimi be saying? 

H: Ed, I’m going to ask you something and you have to promise not to torment me about it for the rest of my life. 

E: It’ll be a strain, but I promise.

H: Do you think you can pretend something and then discover it's true? 

E: Perhaps. Wilde said, give a man a mask and he will tell the truth. All art is subjective even when it looks objective. The way an actor interprets a role or a writer a character will tell you something about the actor or writer. 

H: I don’t really mean artistic interpretation. 

E: If you want a more relevant answer, then you're going to have to be specific. Are you really asking a question or just second-guessing yourself? 

H: I’ll go away and chew on that. Why Wilde? Bit far away from your radical socialists? 

E: Wilde WAS a socialist. People surprise you. 

E: Henry, this Miss E, she’s nothing like Sophia, is she? 

H: No. I don’t think she could deceive anyone. 

E: I hope you're really bloody sure. 

H: She's the one thing I’m sure of. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the start of "A Midsummer Night's Dream", Demetrius' love for Hermia is unrequited, Lysander's love for Hermia is returned.


	38. Between Us Chaps (Day 13)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day of the ball. The scene below, the [deleted scene of Jane and Miss Charming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZedBK1UbGE) and the ball as featured in the movie (poor poor Henry).

Andrews was rather fond of the day of the ball. The gentlemen got the day off, lounging around outside while Mrs Wattlesbrook worked the ladies up into a frenzy of dressing and primping and trying out dance steps. If the company had been pleasant, then there was still time to enjoy it. If it hadn't, well, they would be gone soon and then he had a whole twenty-four hours to be himself. (Not that he was so very different from the Colonel. The part had seeped into his blood.)

This time, however, he had a job to do. Not an especially pleasant job, so best get it over with, what? He looked across at Nobley, who was neither reading nor tapping away on his laptop but gazing into space. 

“You’re very reflective today Nobley,” Andrews said, by way of opening.

“Am I?” The other man shook himself and laughed a little. “I suppose I am.” 

“Are you looking forward to the ball?” 

A shrug was the only reply. 

“Don’t tell Miss Charming, but I think Miss Erstwhile will be our belle! She has changed so much since she first came, hasn’t she? She has us all beguiled!”

The look on Nobley’s face grew more guarded. He was a good chap, Andrews thought. A little odd, but all the staff liked him. Odd maybe wasn’t the right word. Reserved, tightlipped about himself, that sort of thing. Shy. Somewhat moody on the job - but that hadn’t hurt him with the ladies! Darcy in front-of-house, Bingley behind the scenes, in Andrews’ opinion. More comfortable than the reverse. 

“I don’t think she’s changed,” Nobley observed. 

“Oh, but you must!” 

“No.” He gave way to Andrew’s interrogating stare. “I think we just know her better.” 

“Ah, like a butterfly emerging! You may be right Nobley.” He hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way. Usually if a lead wanted to jump a guest's bones he just came out and said it. 

“Of course, you know her particularly well,” Andrews went on, experimentally. Was that a slight flush on those rather attractive cheekbones? “What with rehearsing with her for two days, all alone.” The emphasis on those last two words definitely drew a reaction. Nobley was clearly wishing him at the devil. 

In fact...Andrews suddenly realised that this was something unprecedented in his experience in Austenland. He’d seen it on the boards a few times. It looked like the chump had fallen for her. He lowered his voice and decided on the direct approach. “Do you have feelings for Jane?” 

“No,” but the man was the worst liar Andrews had ever encountered. A denial that shaky wouldn’t deceive a child of six. This was going to put Andrews into an awkward position, but in for a penny in for a pound. He lowered his voice still further. 

“Have you got her address? Phone number?” The look on the other man’s face almost made Andrews groan. He looked half stunned. It clearly hadn’t even occurred to him. How could a man who was plainly intelligent be such a fool?

“No.” Andrews believed that all right. He resumed his usual tones. 

“That will be a relief to your aunt. If you did have, er, emotional entanglements, she might have had to pull you from the ball. She wouldn’t want you taking that one opportunity between now and Miss Erstwhile leaving to talk to her about it. Lucky we don’t have to be concerned about that, eh?” 

Andrews was slightly worried about the look on Nobley’s face. He looked like he’d been hit by a spade. Andrews spoke clearly and a little desperately, hoping the man would snap out of it. “I’ll go immediately and give your aunt the good news. Though, between you and me, you aren’t supposed to know. Keep it between us chaps, eh? ”

He was relieved when Nobley looked up and nodded. He’d got the hint. “Yes, yes, of course. And thank you.” 

“Nothing to thank me for,” Andrews said and bustled off.


	39. Good Time

_(Text from Emily Nobley, thirteenth day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

Henry, You’re obviously having a good time. I expect a long email tomorrow! Mimi.


	40. A Fool (Day 14)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The day after the ball. Jane packing, leaving with Miss H (watched by Nobley at the window - see scene below), the debrief with Mrs Wattlesbrook and the airport.

He was a fool. 

She had made her choice. He respected it, but he couldn't bear to see her. Not until the last moment, when he heard the carriage outside. Then he couldn't bear not to see her just one more time. 

He had been so sure. What he felt was real, and he had thought that she felt it too. 

He had been content before. He had his work and books and friends and family. He had had a nice straightforward life. Now he wanted more. Something built to last like this house, something that was as stable as the trees in the park outside. Something planted in sure knowledge it would be permanent.

Something he could not have.


	41. Is Something Wrong?

_(Texts from Emily Nobley, last day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

10 AM to 11:41 AM

M: Henry, please text when you can. I’m dying of curiosity. Mimi.

M: Henry, I know you got my texts. Is something wrong? Mimi 


	42. Pear Shaped

_(Texts from Edward Nobley, last day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

E: Please text Mimi and tell her you are alive. I haven't told her anything fwiw.

E: I'm guessing it went pear shaped with Miss E. I'm sorry.


	43. Blazing Row

_(Texts from Henry Nobley to Emily Nobley, last day at Pembrook Park. Scroll down for transcript.)_

Mimi, I apologise for not being in touch, I’ve just had a blazing row with Lillian. I’m packing up and I’ll visit you tomorrow. Henry 

What happened? Are you all right? Mimi

Yes, I’m all right. Nothing much happened. Don’t worry. H.


	44. Trying to be Fair

_(A letter from Henry Nobley to Mrs Lillian Wattlesbrook, delivered by footman)_

Dear Lillian, 

I have to apologise. I was unfair. I am trying to be fair now. 

Clearly I didn't see the whole picture. I never saw behind the scenes to any large extent, I didn't realise how much everything was preplanned and scripted. Your "scenario list" was certainly illuminating. However I feel I can hardly be blamed for that given you deliberately kept me in the dark. 

I think you are perfectly correct in your assessment of Miss Erstwhile. I completely agree that she was too intelligent and too honest to be content with a cardboard cut-out and play-acting. However, do you not see the problem with then providing her a “reality” that is ultimately fake? The only thing that stops the games Andrews and East play being unethical is that all parties know exactly what they are. (Or, at least, should know what they are.) Miss Erstwhile obviously did not know Martin was an actor and his actions were clearly deceptive. I’m still not clear if every aspect of the approach was your idea or his. I hope the worst of it was his. 

I am not so convinced that Miss Erstwhile would have been perfectly content if I had not “interfered”. Even if she had been, that still doesn’t make it right. I understand this is your business, and that you need to expand your customer base. But these are people’s lives you’re playing with. You cannot plead “adjusting your business model” when it hurts people. Even from the business point of view, think of the potential consequences.

I admit, I was emotionally involved. I still think that is beside the point. My criticisms still stand.

I apologise unreservedly for what I said about your husband's presence here. I accept that you believed he could change. I know this is painful for you but events have proved he has not. I still maintain that he is not a suitable person to be involved in a venture of this kind. 

And to close, I am sorry the reports of my antisocial behaviour were apparently so grossly exaggerated. I would have thought that the fact I spent three years as a residential tutor, and that I currently work teaching, advising, counselling and collaborating with others might have suggested I had some humanity, not to mention social graces, but apparently not. 

Nonetheless, I hope we can put this behind us for Mimi’s sake. 

Yours sincerely

Henry Nobley.


	45. Performance Five

_(Crumpled typewritten paper found thrust into his pocket by Henry Nobley. Last day in Pembrook Park.)_

## 

PROPERTY OF WATTLESBROOK,   
WATTLESBROOK & STERNE  
T/A AUSTENLAND

## 

STRICTLY PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL

### NOT TO BE REMOVED FROM OFFICE

**PERFORMANCE FIVE**

Scenarios are being run as follows:

Andrews and "Miss Charming": WESTON  
East and "Miss Heartright" : WENTWORTH  
Martin and "Miss Erstwhile": MARTIN 

 

**SCENARIOS - aide-mémoire**

BROTHER  
A support role for lone guests requiring support. Lead will play alongside a romantic role. 

WESTON  
Back story: not required  
Straightforward admiration leading to eventual engagement.  
Notes: Hints of familial disapproval, prior connections or similar in the background to allow for future guest re-visits. May be played with BROTHER. 

KNIGHTLY  
Back story: not required.  
Lead plays brotherly supportive role, betrays signs of attraction, grand confession of passion  
Notes: May suit a returning guest if lead was playing a compatible part in previous visit and not matched on that occasion. Requires more mature player. May suit nervous/untutored guest who needs support. Ideally not played with BROTHER. 

WENTWORTH  
Back story: the couple were close/engaged but separated due to the low prospects of the male due to family or friends intervening. He now has good prospects (increase in rank, inheritance). Separation also possible due to previous marriage, sudden disaster, some other calamity.  
Lead is distant with guest, possibly pays count to another, passion overcomes his hurt at rejection  
Notes: ideal to reunite returning guest with previous assigned lead. Playing with BROTHER allows reveal of softer side of nature. 

CHURCHILL  
Back story: secret engagement (due to status differences, family objections, etc)  
Lead may court another guest, continues to secretly court main guest. Barrier is overcome, engagement is announced.  
Notes: may be used to reunite returning guest with previously assigned lead. Not a good match with BROTHER. 

MARTIN  
Back story: none required  
Lead (low status) fall in love with guest (low status). They are separated (disapproval of host, other intervention). Eventual reunion.  
Notes: Combines well with WENTWORTH and CHURCHILL: separation due to attentions of W/C. Difficult to match with BROTHER. 

Page 1/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weston, Knightly, Churchill and Martin are all from "Emma", Wentworth is from "Persuasion".


	46. The Sketchbook

The poolside was almost empty. Martin sat, outlining the events at the airport to Andrews. 

"...So you'll never guess what happened next. I stuck out my hand and said, fair dues, let's let bygones be bygones. And he said to keep out of his way or he wouldn't be responsible for his actions! The guy's a total nutter, right?" 

Andrews surveyed Martin's very impressive righteous indignation and met George's eyes over Martin's shoulder. Martin turned around to George, who shrugged, then back to Andrews. 

"So guys, what do you think?" 

Andrews sipped his drink. "I think," he said, "that you're a good actor, Martin, but you're also a complete arse." 

* * *

"Psst!" Nigel turned from the bottom step of the stairs and looked around. Constance beckoned at him and the two retired into a alcove.

"What's going on, Nige?" Constance was agog with curiosity. "Why's the missus staying in her rooms? Not like her." 

"Beats me," Nigel answered. He looked at Constance's disappointed face and relented. "But they say..." 

Both looked around. Nigel continued in a low voice. "They say that Nobley and the missus had a ding-dong battle up at the cottage. I've this to deliver to him. He's clearing out in the next half hour."

"Pity," Constance said. "I liked him. No trouble at all. Only the one time that he left cushions and books out up at the Temple and he apologised afterwards. Not like that Fitzherbert boy who leaves stuff everywhere." 

Nigel shrugged. "Yeah, but that's the way of it, isn't it." 

A thoughtful look came over Constance's face. "Wonder if it's got anything to do with the other thing." 

"What other thing?" 

"Martin was called away. Trouble with one of the guests, or so Rupert said." 

Nigel considered. "Doubt it," he said. "Anyhow I'd better get this upstairs or I'll miss him and I'll be for the high jump. Missus isn't in the best of form." He looked around the hall. "You'd better get the cleaning crew on this or we'll all be for it." 

He walked up the stairs. Good servants weren't supposed to knock, he knew, but he tapped on the door anyway. 

At the sound of the knock, Henry shoved away the last of the books and zipped the bag closed. He gave Nigel a nod as the footman entered and silently took the package from him.

"Sorry to see you go," Nigel said. "Enjoyed our talks, I did. Learned a lot." 

Henry smiled briefly. "So did I, Nigel. Good luck with the book."

"Thanks. Same to you. Should I wait?" 

Henry shook his head. He opened the envelope as Nigel left, then shook the contents out on the bed. A sketchbook. _Her_ sketchbook, along with a note. He picked up the paper and read it.

> Dear Henry, 
> 
> I am deeply hurt and disappointed, but I do appreciate your note. I agree that for Mimi’s sake, we must try. 
> 
> There is one more service you might perform before you return to your books, or counselling, or whatever it is that you do. Among the terms of your confidentiality agreement was the stipulation that no photograph, image, daguerreotype or other representation of you should be made. I therefore informed Miss Erstwhile that she should leave her sketchbook, which was in violation of that condition. 
> 
> Since many of her drawings fall outside the restriction, it seems unfair to keep the entire volume from her. I suggest that you remove any images you wish suppressed, then place the sketchbook in the envelope and hand it to any of the servants. They will ensure it reaches the correct destination. 
> 
> You may not believe me but I wish you well, Henry, sincerely I do. 
> 
> Lillian.  
> 

He sat down and leafed through the sketch book. He didn't know what he was looking for until he found it, tucked in a corner beneath a sketch of the Temple. Her face. 

She looked tentative, a little shy, almost as she had looked on that first day he met her, when he was rude and argumentative and she had met him word for word. He looked at the picture for a long time, before touching it gently with the tip of a finger. 

He should have talked to her sooner. He should have tried harder. He should have followed her, even if it meant buying a ticket and getting onto the plane. (Or as close as he could get with no passport.) He should have done many things but it was all too late. 

His fingers moved to the top corner of the page, drawn by the temptation to tear it out, before he snatched his hand back. This was her work. He would not remove as much as a single page. He would call Nigel and send the book back as it was. 

He slid the sketchbook back into the envelope and turned it over, then stopped. 

Her address was already written on the envelope. 

He stood stock still as a idea formed: an idea ridiculous, stupendous, insane. But it was a chance, a chance that he had never thought to have, and he was damn well going to take it. Decision made, he placed the envelope gently on the bed again, crossed to his work bag and took out his laptop.

Fifteen minutes later, he was tapping out an email. 

> Mimi, 
> 
> I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet you tomorrow after all. There's something I have to do. I'm driving up to Manchester now and I'll ring you tomorrow evening. 
> 
> I promise I am perfectly fine. Don’t worry about me. 
> 
> Henry.  
> 

Fifteen hours later, his flight took off from Heathrow for New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For timetable nerds, I'm assuming that Jane flew out about 4 and the earliest flight Henry could then get was the first the next morning.
> 
> In the ["awkwardly entangled" deleted scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bclkB4digfQ), I love the little bit at the end, just after they agree to find the others, where Henry looks at all the stuff on the ground and then waves it away, all like "should tidy, never mind, better not, priority is finding other people RIGHT NOW." It's small, but I love that Feild (or the director) thought to have him do that. Yeah, I like guys who tidy up after themselves :)


	47. Cover Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are love! Thanks for reading.


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